


Into the Woods

by quwarichi



Series: TheirLoveWasReal, MOTHERFUCKERS [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Attempted Masturbation, Hunter Dean Winchester, M/M, Meet-Cute, TheirLoveWasReal, all unintentional, also a lot of resemblance to 4.01, but like, but with a twist, how, lowkey Angel's Wild vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quwarichi/pseuds/quwarichi
Summary: There are new Demon species with wings now, apparently, and Dean is having none of that.Part of #TheirLoveWasReal Day 2: Discovery
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: TheirLoveWasReal, MOTHERFUCKERS [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160264
Kudos: 19
Collections: Their Love Was Real: a Destiel & Saileen Fanworks Challenge





	Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this one was created. I wanted to be like "Dean finds angel Cas and can't bring himself to kill him." Then this 4k monster came out. Shoutout to my beta [GatorGirl2016](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatorGirl2016/pseuds/GatorGirl2016), and my friend [Crispypotatos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crispypotatos/pseuds/Crispypotatos) for helping me out with this. This is also my first time attempting to write any kind of smut, so yeah, there's that down there.

As a Hunter in service of his Tribe, Dean’s only duty is to kill when he sees something humanity can’t explain. That’s it, no more, no less, goodbye and thank you. 

So,  _ of course, _ when he saw something he couldn’t explain, Dean didn’t kill it.

It starts early in the morning. Dean gets up, gets dressed, and leaves his family’s hut. He eats breakfast at the campfire with his fellow Hunters and Tribe members, kisses his mom on her cheek, and leads a group of Hunters to the Woods to hunt for anything remotely edible or dangerous for their people. 

He’s gotten hurt plenty of times, sure. He’s woken up at the Tribe’s healing hut more than once, his body aching and covered in bruises and ointments. That’s part of the job, though; there isn’t a hunter alive who hasn’t spent at least one night in the healing hut. Being a Hunter is dangerous, and Dean’s more than okay with it. 

The worst injuries he’s attained were fittingly from the nastiest creatures he has ever encountered, the Demons. Unlike all the other monsters and creatures hiding in the shadows of the Woods, the Demons don’t hunt humans for food but for fun. Demons enjoy snacking on humans for the simple pleasure of hearing their screams. Killing them was impossible, but it was Dean’s job, as it was all Hunters’ job, to fight them off as best he could.

Sammy, Dean’s brother, is a Scholar. He studies the creatures they bring in and the occasional Demon they manage to capture alive. Dean thinks it’s a freaking creepy occupation because who the hell wants to cut something open if you’re not going to eat it, but the kid loves it. He always goes on and on about how “fascinating” the poisonous toad he saw was or how he hopes one day he’ll leave the Tribe and encounter a dragon. Dean reminds him that dragons haven’t been seen in centuries, which just earns him a bitchface and a whining, “That doesn’t mean they’re  _ gone _ , Dean.”

Dean’s dad is the leader of their Hunters, but lately, Dean’s mom has been insisting he should let Dean take over some of the Hunts. “We are growing older, and you deserve to rest,” she keeps telling her husband, but John always seems reluctant to rely on Dean with such a big task. 

Finally, a few days ago, John asked Dean to oversee an important mission. Dean, always happy to help his parents, readily agreed. The Scouts had been coming back with reports of battle marks from the Woods for days, so John told Dean to gather up a group of Hunters and investigate. Dean was instructed to try and make a Peace Pact if it was a new Tribe in the area. If they refused, or their intentions were malicious, then the two Tribes would go to war. Dean had never participated in a Peace Pact or a war himself, but his dad and Bobby had many times. Dean never enjoyed how worried his mom and Ellen got whenever a battle took longer than it should, and the Hunters and Warriors were kept away for too long. 

If the marks found weren’t of another Tribe but of Demons instead, then trouble was brewing. Demons rarely ever clustered in groups, and when they did, all hell broke loose. Dean’s heard stories of Demon attacks on Tribes, how they’ve struck at the dead of night and left no one alive. Ellen’s first husband, Bill, was visiting a Tribe to trade goods with when some Demons attacked, killing everyone, including him. When news reached their Tribe, Ellen had broken down, and Jo cried and clung to her mother. The Tribe had held a funeral, though they had no body to burn. 

So yeah, Dean and a group of Hunters went to check the marks. Upon arrival, they take in scorch marks, charred bodies, and weird wing marks burned into the ground around some of the corpses.

“Looks like there was some kind of Demon scuffle,” Benny says, poking one of the broken bodies at his feet with the end of his blade. “The wings are new.”

“Don’t poke it.” Jo bats his blade away and looks at the scorched wing marks. “But yeah, this is definitely a new one. Can Demons fly now?”

Dean shudders. “Let’s hope not.” 

Demons were hard to detect because of how human they looked. The one difference was their eyes, which were black as night and without pupils or irises. They easily infiltrate Tribes and fool the Tribespeople into going into the woods alone, where they make easy prey. Dean’s never heard of winged Demons before, but he can only assume they have a similar appearance as regular Demons. If Demons had grown wings and learned to fly, the Tribe was going to be in trouble. Damn, he really hates those bastards. 

Dean scans the area, taking in several openings in the dense trees where it seems something (or someone) broke through. “Looks like we’ve got a couple of runners. We should check it out before heading back.”

Jo stares at him, frowning. “You want to split up?”

“Kinda have to if we want to cover all possible routes.” He gestures to the four different escape trails left behind by Demons… hopefully. The thought makes him snort; since when did he hope for a Demon encounter? “There are seven of us, so we’ll just pair off and go after those things.”

Benny chuckles. “You mean, we’ll pair up, and you’ll go alone.” 

Dean shrugs, not bothering to correct him. The guy knows him too well. 

“You sure, brother?” Benny asks.

Dean winces at that. Hunters didn’t use “brother” just as an endearment. Hunters had a great deal of faith in one another, defending each other as they constantly put their lives on the line. Calling another Hunter “brother” signified more than trust, though. It went beyond business; it was personal. It meant family. In the Tribe, family means everything, and brotherhood is not taken lightly. 

Benny seems to be really worried about Dean. Ever since Dean’s dad has been reluctantly preparing to step down and Sam and Eileen got engaged, Dean’s been taking on more dangerous hunts and solo missions. Everyone around him is worried he has some kind of death wish, but he doesn’t, not really. He has just been feeling restless, itching to do something, even if he’s not sure what. 

“I’m fine, Benny,” Dean says, patting the other Hunter’s shoulder and pointing at the western trail. “I’ll take that one. You and Jo grab the other Hunters and check the rest of the trails, ‘kay?”

Benny doesn’t seem any happier; his mouth stretched in a thin line. He licks his lips and sighs. “If you’re sure,” he says in defeat.

“I am,” Dean insists and pats the blade hanging from his hip. “I’ve got Baby. I’ll be fine.”

Jo snorts, rolling her eyes. “I will never get over how you named your blade.”

“I’d bet he has a name for his  _ other  _ blade,” Benny says, smirking, and Dean glares at him. 

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious.”

“I know I am, Cher.” Benny winks at him and turns away, going to the others to tell them the plan.

Jo lingers behind for a moment. “You know he’s only worried about you, right?”

Dean lets his gaze drag from Benny to her. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m worried about you too.”

“You shouldn’t.” Dean frowns, lips twitching down. “I’m fine.”

Jo lifts an eyebrow, letting him know she doesn’t buy his act. 

“I am.” Dean groans and runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer than he’d like, but he would let his mom deal with that later. “Now go. I’ll meet up with you guys before sundown.” 

Dean grins at the thought of having a few hours to himself. If he gets lucky and there’s nothing on his way, he can spend some alone time with himself and relax. Dean never feels truly comfortable in his parent’s hut, always having to be quick and quiet. Maybe he could find a quiet spot between the trees, some nice, comfortable rock to lean against, and give himself the relief he hasn’t gotten in weeks. Yeah, that sounds perfect.

Dean turns from Jo and nods at the others, getting a few nods in return. “See you later, then.”

“Be careful!” She calls after him, and he raises his hand in assurance. He’d say more to her, but the thought of well-craved privacy is too enticing to stay and chat. As he heads towards the Woods, he’s fighting all of his body’s instincts not to just break into a dead-sprint and find that comfy rock or boulder, but he needs to look good in front of the others.

He does jog a little once he’s far enough out of sight. 

After running for some time, he can’t hear the others’ voices anymore, just the rustling of the forest and small animals, which he would normally try to hunt, but not today. Today he’s going to find the thing that killed all those Demons and the things with wings or, he’s finally going to relieve himself. Maybe both, if he can.

By the time Dean feels he’s far enough into the Woods, the sun has already moved considerably across the sky. He’d better hurry up if he wants to get to the fun part. He’s been following the trail, using the most basic of tracking skills. Whatever’s passed this way has no concept of subtlety. Everywhere Dean looks, there are trampled bushes, broken twigs, low tree branches, and soft grass bending unnaturally, indicating someone had stepped on it. The signs grow more and more profound the deeper he ventures, like something had crashed through the tree and then started dragging itself along the forest floor. 

If the thing had wings, like the suspected Demons back at the clearing, it made sense, especially if it was injured. Dean could picture it, a wounded Demon crashing through the trees after attempting to fly on broken wings and falling, breaking branches in its wake. His thoughts are only confirmed when he glances up and locates several broken branches, barely hanging on and swaying in the slight breeze. 

Dean sighs in defeat, feeling his shoulders sag. Those signs mean there’s a Demon somewhere nearby, which means that any plans Dean had for private jacking off time have vanished. He wraps his fingers over Baby’s hilt, purses his lips, and continues following the tracks. 

Soon enough, the ground turns soft, and Dean can make out defined footprints. A soft ground and greener scenery means water, so Dean deducts there’s a stream close by. If he was a wounded animal, the first thing he would look for was water. “Stream it is,” Dean decides, squinting at the sun. It’s getting late, but he might as well check the lead out before he goes back. “Better safe than sorry,” he mutters.

By the time he finally hears the stream, the sun is much lower on the horizon. Dean pushes through the tall bushes, and the small brook comes into full view, clear water shimmering in the dim sunlight that manages to filter through the trees. He takes a slow step forward, scanning his surroundings. Just as he’s starting to relax, he notices it—a beautiful, sturdy-looking rock.

The area is empty, just him and the trees. Dean assumes the Demon flew away since his senses aren’t screaming at him about something trying to kill him. He hopes the others are more successful than he is, finding their Demons and fighting them off. The sun is still reasonably high in the sky, which means he has a couple of hours before he’s expected back.

Praise the gods; he gets his free time after all.

Swiftly, he strides to the rock and sinks down against it, groaning at the instant relief to his feet after walking for hours. Not wasting a moment, he closes his eyes and moves his hand to his crotch, palming at himself. He groans again, but this time the relief is different. He starts scanning his brain for prime fantasy material. He remembers an instant a few days ago when some of the Hunters were training in the heat of the sun, shirts off, and sweat glistening down their backs. 

Dean sinks into his daydream. In his mind, he’s in front of a Hunter, and they’re both shirtless and panting. The other Hunter’s dark hair falls into his bright eyes, and he’s smirking confidently at Dean. They size each other before lunging forward, meeting in the middle. The struggle is short, ending with Dean sprawled on his back. The Hunter is straddling Dean, pinning his hands to his side while his knees box Dean’s hips in. The Hunter leans in, breath ghosting across Dean’s collarbone and neck and kissing the bolt of his jaw lightly, working his way to Dean’s lips. They’re flushed chest to chest when their lips finally meet, and their tongues tangle together. 

Outside of the fantasy, Dean is breathing hard—rubbing his crotch with growing enthusiasm. The Hunter would then shove one of his knees between Dean’s thighs and press it against his crotch. Dean groans, pressing down harder with the heel of his hand. His pants are tightening, and he bites his lip, feeling hot all over. The Hunter stops kissing him and pulls back, eyes dark, mouth swollen and red. He releases one of Dean’s hands to reach down to Dean’s pants, a finger slipping inside his waistband. Dean could almost feel it, panting hard and slipping his hand inside his pants to his semi-hard dick. He strokes the smooth flesh eagerly, savoring the touch. A guttural moan rumbles through his throat, and his hips buck into his hand again and again.

_ Splash. _

Dean’s eyes snap open, body freezing. In front of him, at the edge of the stream, hands still in the water was an equally unmoving man with black wings. They stare at each other in silence, eyes wide. The man looks shocked, and his eyes keep darting between Dean’s face down to his-

Dean’s hand is still in his pants. He pulls his hand away, never moving so fast in his life. Not even when Sam accidentally walked in on him and another woman, or worse, when he walked in on Dean and another man. Those past experiences equate to _ nothing _ as to how quickly his erection dies. 

Dean jumps to his feet and grabs the hilt of his blade, snarling. Pulling it out, Dean strides to the Demon, quickly noting his broken and bleeding wings along with a bruised chest and arms. So he found a Demon after all. “Son of a bitch,” he curses through his clenched teeth.

The Demon growls as Dean approaches, probably in an attempt to seem intimidating, but his feathers are flapping wildly behind him, like a bird’s wings do when Dean shoots them down with an arrow.

The Demon is still crouching, although he looks like he’s considering risking getting to his feet. Dean tackles him to the ground before he has the chance. The Demon howls in pain when his wings hit the ground with a thud, but Dean ignores him. They grapple for a few seconds, but it’s clear that Dean has the upper hand. The Demon is weak and wounded, while Dean has adrenaline pumping in his veins. 

Dean quickly grasps both of the Demon’s wrists with his left hand and pins them above his head in the grass. Settling on his chest, Dean makes sure that his knees are pressed against the Demon’s wings, ensuring the Demon can’t fly away. The Demon struggles against him, snarling both in pain and anger, his wings flapping against the ground uselessly. Dean scowls at him and pushes his blade against the Demon’s neck. Instantly, all of the Demon’s movements halt, knowing that the wrong gesture could get his head severed from his body. He glares at Dean, chest heaving and face flushed from the unexpected exertion. Dean returns a nasty glower of his own, staring into the Demon’s panicked ice-blue eyes-

Wait,  _ blue  _ eyes?

Dean blinks in surprise, taking in the features of his captive. Sharp jaw, stubble, chapped lips, messy dark hair, electric eyes… nothing like the ugly looking Demons he’s encountered before. It could be a new Demon species that no one knew of, what with the wings and all, but somehow Dean doubts that. He sees some of his confusion mirrored in the other creature’s eyes as they regard each other.

The trees rustle, and the stream water bubbles over rocks. The wind whispers through the long and soft grass beneath their bodies.

Dean and the winged creature stare at each other.

“You’re not a Demon,” a deep, gravelly voice echoes out. Dean’s attention snaps to the creature’s mouth just in time to see it close. If mountains could talk, they might sound like the Demon’s voice: deep and rumbling, falling rocks and thunder.

The creature tilts his head to the side and examines Dean with a puzzled expression.

Swallowing, Dean nods slowly. “Could say the same thing to you.”

The creature squints at him. “I’m not an abomination.”

“Oh, so I am?” Dean asks, his eye twitching.

“That was not what I meant.”

“Sure,” Dean says, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

The creature bares his teeth, making Dean tense. “It was not.”

“Okay.” The Hunter presses his blade deeper into the throat of the creature. Not enough to break the skin, but with a bit of pressure… “So what  _ are  _ you, if not a Demon?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” the creature bites out, his wings ruffling a bit, but the action clearly pains him. Discomfort flashes across his face for a moment before he masks it with indifference. “What are you?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “I’m human,” he says.

“Human?”

“Yeah, you know? Humans, not Demons, and we don’t have bird wings.” He nods to the black wings spread out on the grass, but all he gets from the creature is a growl.

“These are Angel wings,” he says, glaring at Dean. 

Dean licks his lips, catching the creature’s eyes tracking the movement. “What’s an Angel? Is that what you are?”

The creature’s (Angel’s?) eyes widen, and his expression could only be described as insulted. “I am,” he says, trying to puff his chest out, but since Dean’s sitting on it, it doesn’t rise much.

“Cool,” Dean answers. “So, if I were to get off of you, would you kill me?”

The Angel sighs. “Unfortunately, I’m not in any shape to kill anyone.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” 

Dean shifts and pushes off the Angel’s body, glimpsing the instant relief on the man’s face. He crouches near the Angel’s head, making sure to avoid the wing. The Angel’s eyes are closed, and he’s breathing deeply, in and out.

“So, Angel.” Dean chuckles when blue eyes snap open and look at him. “Got a name?”

The Angel considers it for a moment and finally says, “Castiel.”

Dean grins at him. “Nice to meet you, Cas; I’m Dean.”

“Dean.” Cas pronounces his name slowly as if tasting it in his mouth.

“That’s me.” The Hunter looks around them. “How’d you get here, anyway?”

Cas levels him with a flat look. “I walked.”

Dean laughs, the utter seriousness in those words sounding ridiculous coming from the Angel’s mouth. “No, I know that. I meant, how’d you get to the Woods?”

Cas frowns at him and struggles to sit up. “You mean the forest?”

Dean shrugs; a lot of Tribes have different names for things. “Sure, if that’s what you call it.”

“I flew here.” Cas’ wings sag against the grass, feathers shifting with a light rustle. “We’ve been receiving reports of more Demon sightings than usual, so we’ve been sent to eradicate them.”

“Wait,” Dean says slowly, trying to comprehend. “You can  _ kill  _ Demons?” Then, another thought occurs to him. “Were you the one who killed those Demons back at the clearing?”

Cas nods as if that’s the most regular thing a guy can do. “Yes, my brothers and I intercepted the Demon group and engaged them in combat. Those of us that survived scattered to confuse the remaining Demons.”

Dean was reminded of the creatures with the singed wings marks on the ground, the ones the Hunters thought were weird Demon hybrids. “Were some of the Angels with you killed in the battle?”

Cas looks down, hands clenching at his lap. 

“Shit, Cas.” Dean places a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s alright.” Cas shakes his head and rolls his shoulders at the same time. The result was pretty… cute. 

Dean blinks a few times, then frowns. Did he seriously just think that Cas was adorable? 

“All Angels know the price of battle and are more than willing to lay down their lives for the mission,” Cas says solemnly.

_ “Kinda like the Hunters and Warriors back at his Tribe _ ,” Dean thinks, relating his own experience to what Cas said. He’s lost people, good men and women, in the heat of battle.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be sad about it.” Dean places his hand hesitantly on Cas’ shoulder. Then he remembers his other questions. “So can you really kill Demons?”

“Angels are the natural enemy of Demons,” Cas recites.

“That’s awesome, Cas!” Dean is grinning like a fool. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Cas squints at him. “Only Angels can smite Demons, Dean.”

Dean’s shoulders slump, and he sighs in defeat. “Of course.” It was nice to imagine he could fight against Demons and win, for once.

Cas looks up at the sky and then glances back at Dean. “The sun has almost set. Are humans nocturnal?”

“What’s that?”

“Are you mainly active during the night?”

Dean snorts. He does all sorts of activities during the night. “Nope, we mostly sleep.”

“Then you should hurry back to your home,” Cas says. “Before nightfall.”

Dean hesitates. He knows he should, but…

“What about you?” He bites his lip, scanning Cas’ wounds in the dim light. “Can you fly with your wings being damaged?”

“No.” Cas runs a hand through his wing, the feathers moving with it. “I’ll stay here tonight.”

“Do you have any weapons?” Cas stares at him, eyebrows raised. Dean suddenly remembers that aside from the loose-fitting pants that reach his ankles, Cas’ body is bare to the world. Definitely, no place to hide a blade. “Right, why would you need weapons? You can smite Demons and fly; you don’t need sharp objects,” he mutters, frowning in concentration. 

What kind of weapon could he offer Cas? He needs something sharp that’s easy to manage. Dean’s gaze lands on his blade.

Oh, right. “You could take my Baby,” Dean offers.

Cas’ bemused expression morphs into horror. “Do humans use their infants as weapons?”

“What?  _ No! _ of course, no-” Dean realizes what he had said and laughs. “Oh, right. No, no, Baby is the name of my blade.”

“Your blade has a name?” Cas is looking more confused by the second.

“Of course she does.” Baby is awesome, and Dean loves her like his own kid. He’s probably not going to have any kids of his own anyway.

“Do humans assign a gender to all of their swords?”

“Only those who deserve it.” Dean grins at Cas’ pout and nudges the blade’s hilt in his direction. “Just take it before I regret it.”

Cas hesitates but wraps his fingers around the hilt, causing their hands to brush. For a split-second, it feels like Dean just touched a bolt of lightning. His skin is tingling, and the hairs on his nape rise. His arms break out in goosebumps. 

Cas, oblivious to it all, turns the blade over in his hands and looks at Dean. “How will I return it to you before I leave? Just leave it here?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll come back here in the morning before you leave to take it, so you better wait until I get here,” he threatens, and Cas nods solemnly. “Great. I’ll bring you some food with me. Do you eat?”

“I can eat.”

“Then that settles it.” Dean rubs his hands over his tights and stands up, looking down at Cas. “Take care of her, Cas; she’s precious.”

“I will treat her with the utmost care.” Cas sounds so sincere and eager to care for a blade of metal he’s never held before, causing Dean’s heart to do a little dance in his chest.

“Right,” he swallows. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” Cas gives him a small quirk of his lips, eyes crinkling, and something in Dean’s chest clenches.

“Night, Cas.” 

Dean stares at the image in front of him - an Angel with black wings, wounded and battered, examining Dean’s blade in awe - and then turns and walks away. He pushes past the bushes and continues down the path he walked not an hour prior, feeling oddly relaxed for someone who left their prized possession with a complete stranger. But Dean has a good feeling about Cas if the way his heart is beating is any indication.

If it doesn’t stop after he sends Cas off, he’ll go see a healer.

Chuckling, he thinks how he set out today to find some nasty Demon to fight, and instead, he discovered a weird Angel.

…  _ and  _ he didn’t kill him. Oops?

For a change, Dean doesn’t care what his father or fellow Hunters might think. Cas is alright, and Dean can’t wait for tomorrow to come.


End file.
